


The Mistake

by devovitsuasartes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:18:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovitsuasartes/pseuds/devovitsuasartes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, that did not go at all how I imagined."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mistake

There were twenty-three steps up to the floor that Derek's apartment was on, and Stiles took them at a light jog. He was eager to keep his heart rate up, to keep a good supply of the adrenaline that was making him artificially brave. It was only when he got to the top of the steps that he started to worry about whether he was sweating, or how it would look if he was out of breath when Derek answered the door, what he would think...

Nope. No thinking. This was a dumb plan and the smallest amount of intelligent thought would kill it.

The door was this big, cold, intimidating chunk of metal that seemed to glare at him, so Stiles raised his fist and banged on it four times before he could chicken out. He hopped from one foot to the next, pretending that he wasn't listening intently to the other side of the door. There was a long silence, and with a weird feeling that was a lot like relief Stiles thought, _He might not even be in_.

There was a banging noise on the other side of the door that made Stiles' heart leap into his throat, and then it slid open, revealing a very unimpressed looking Derek Hale on the other side of the threshold.

'What?' he asked shortly.

Stiles had never really thought about what Derek would wear at home, during his very rare downtime. It turned out that the answer was a pair of sweats, a plain grey T-shirt that hung a little loosely on him, and bare feet. And a scowl. At least that was familiar.

'What do you want, Stiles?' Derek snapped, and Stiles realised that he'd just been standing there with his mouth open.

'Uhhh...' _Good opener_. 'Can I come in? Please?'

Derek didn't move. 'Why?'

'This is a conversation best had behind closed doors,' Stiles said, in as mysterious a voice as he could muster.

He got a glare for his troubles, then Derek turned around, sliding the door back towards the closed position as he did so. Deciding to accept that as a welcoming gesture, Stiles wormed his way past the door before it closed and padded in after Derek, who had sat down on his couch and begun reading - somewhat bizarrely - a newspaper.

Stiles swung his arms back and forth a few times, then blurted out, 'So, these virgin sacrifices, huh?'  He winced when he actually heard the words said aloud.

'Yes?' Derek didn't look up from his paper.

'Enough to make a guy nervous. I mean, Derek, I don't know what you've heard but...'

'You're a virgin,' Derek stated matter-of-factly, still not looking up.

'What gave it away?' Stiles joked.

'You're scared you're going to be next.' Still zero eye contact from Derek.

'Well, you could say...'

'You're right to be scared. You might be next.'

Stiles stared at him with his mouth slightly open for a second. Werewolf manners had that effect on him sometimes. 'Thanks for the words of comfort.'

'So you're here for what? You want me to protect you?'

Stiles took a deep breath, tensed his shoulders and replied, 'Kind of.'

He let the silence hang in the air. Derek was still looking at his paper but it was obvious that he wasn't really seeing it - that he was letting the conversation tick over in his mind. Finally he looked up sharply and - woah - Stiles suddenly missed the days of no eye contact.

'Are you asking me to have sex with you?' Derek deadpanned, the words too cold to sound as ridiculous as they were.

'Don't answer yet, you haven't heard the pitch!' Stiles' voice sounded thin and shrill to his own ears.

Derek broke eye contact, folded up his newspaper and put it on the couch beside him before standing up. 'Fine.'

The word was said with such a lack of emotion that for a moment Stiles was sure he had misheard. Floundering, he decided to jump straight into the lengthy pitch that he'd prepared. 'See, I know I'm not exactly... But I heard that you, you know, uh, might be...'

'You heard right.' Derek was in front of him now, his hands in the pockets of his sweats, his posture relaxed but his eyes hard.

'And, um...' The excuses came next. 'I thought about asking Lydia, you know, before I remembered which universe we lived in. And- and I thought about asking another girl but I couldn't think of a way to say "Have sex with me to save my life" in a way that didn't sound pressuring and creepy.'

'And apparently you still haven't.'

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did Stiles felt a hot burst of humiliation spreading through his chest, probably turning his cheeks red. Looking down at his shoes, he mumbled shamefacedly, 'I didn't mean to... you shouldn't...'

'I said it's fine,' Derek interrupted, and when Stiles looked up he saw that the werewolf's expression had softened infinitesimally. Derek lifted his head and looked around the apartment as though in thought, before walking over to the modest table in front of the couch. There was a scraping sound as he picked up his keys and wallet.

'I don't have any supplies in the house,' Derek said, walking over to the door. Stiles followed him as though hypnotized, laughing nervously.

'You mean like bottled water, a couple of torches...'

'I mean condoms and lube,' Derek interjected humorlessly, turning to face Stiles with a hard look. 'You know how this works, right? I assume you watch porn.'

'Oh yeah!' Stiles laughed nervously. 'Boy, I've...'

'Good. The bed's upstairs.' Derek nodded towards the spiral staircase. 'Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in about ten minutes.'

The door was sliding shut again before Stiles could reply.

He took a couple of steps back, reeling. He looked down at the floor and saw the faint ghost of footprints on the floor, realizing that Derek had gone out barefoot. It probably wouldn't matter to a werewolf.

'Well, that did not go at all how I imagined,' Stiles said aloud to himself.

That was quite an achievement, considering how many different ways he had imagined this scenario playing out. In truth, he'd started imagining it long before the virgin sacrifices had begun. Not that he was just using them as an excuse. Stiles really didn't want to die. He was just killing two birds with one stone. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing.

Anyway. Score! This was a great thing. He was about to lose his virginity. He was about to lose it to Derek freakin' Hale. How often did guys like him get laid by someone in Derek's league?

After climbing the staircase Stiles found that Derek's bed was low, near the floor, with thin sheets. Werewolves ran hot, so it made sense that they wouldn't need lots of blankets. There was a pile of books by the bed that Stiles was itching to look through, and a full-length mirror hanging on the wall.

Stiles snorted with laughter when he saw it, picturing Derek perfecting his hair every morning and flexing in front of that stupid mirror. It made him feel better. It made Derek seem more human. Then Stiles made the mistake of stepping in front of the mirror.

Well, shit.

He looked ugly and terrified. Like a deer in headlights. His eyes were wide and his hair was sticking up weirdly as though he'd been shocked and there was a flush in his cheeks. "Make yourself comfortable," Derek had said. It only now occurred to Stiles that that probably meant get naked.

'Shit,' he breathed. Yeah, that was probably what Derek had meant. He'd want Stiles to be ready. He'd want to get it over quickly. A quick pity fuck and then back to reading the paper. This had been months of build-up for Stiles but for Derek it would just be a weird, unpleasant, interrupted evening.

Whatever. Stiles had no right to expect anything else.

He shrugged his flannel shirt of his shoulders, feeling his guts tighten at the simple act of undressing. He had a T-shirt on underneath but the sensation of cold air on his skin as he took the outer layer off made his skin crawl.

Looking away from the mirror, Stiles toed off his shoes and socks and then clumsily stripped off his jeans and T-shirt, screwing them up into a ball and kicking them over to the wall. He didn't feel excited. He didn't feel horny. He felt sick and he felt afraid and he was starting to wish that he'd never come to Derek's door in the first place.

Looking back up at the mirror to check his appearance made him feel so much worse. The image distorted, so that all that Stiles could see was an awful mish-mash of pale skin and weird patches of hair and underdeveloped muscles. It was like looking at a hideous caricature of himself drawn by a beach artist, and right then and there Stiles resolved that there was no way he was taking his boxers off here. He did not need to see what his cock looked like in this horrible carnival mirror.

Shivering violently all over, Stiles sat down on the edge of the bed. It was fine. Derek could take his underwear off. They could save it until the last minute. Maybe after turning the lights off. Not that Derek would even care. Derek didn't care.

'Oh god,' Stiles whispered, dropping his head into his hands as his shoulders shook. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? How could this have possibly gone well, in any scenario? How could it have possibly ended up any way other than it had - with a knock-kneed seventeen year-old Stiles sitting on a cold bed in a twenty-three year old's apartment, waiting for said twenty-three year old to return with condoms and lube and give him a cursory fuck before kicking him out.

 _I don't want to do this_ , Stiles realized, and it was immediately followed by the thought, _I have to do this_. He'd come all the way here, he'd asked Derek and Derek had said yes, and Derek was now out buying... supplies. He wouldn't exactly be happy if he came back and Stiles told him that, after all this fuss, he'd changed his mind.

Stiles had thought about Derek's muscles a lot. Like, a lot. But this was different. Now he was thinking about how strong Derek was, how easily he could shove Stiles around, and before he could stop it an insane, irrational, terrifying thought bubbled up in his head: _Derek might not let me back out._

He heard the door slide open. His fingers tightened in the sheets. He wanted to get up and he wanted to put his clothes on and he wanted to leave, but Stiles was frozen in place. He probably couldn't even speak if he wanted to. He probably couldn't even say no. 

The spiral staircase creaked as Derek started to climb it. Stiles knew he was hyperventilating and he couldn't stop it. There were bright spots in his vision. Derek appeared as a dark, huge, hulking shape and Stiles was shaking, his eyes brimming with tears as he tried to force out the words "No" and "Stop," with no luck.

'Oh Jesus,' he heard Derek say, and then his hands were being held tightly and Derek was saying, 'It's OK, try to calm down,' his concerned face and soft green eyes swimming around in Stiles' vision.

'Please don't,' Stiles rasped, the words like a huge weight off his shoulders. 'I don't want it. I'm sorry. Please don't.'

'I won't, I won't. We don't have to do anything. Here, put this on.'

There was something waving in front of Stiles' face and he realized that it was his flannel shirt. He slid his arms into the sleeves and wrapped it around his body tightly, not bothering to do up the buttons, just glad to be a little more covered up. He stared fiercely down at his knees, not wanting to look Derek in the eye.

The panic attack was working its way out of Stiles' system in a series of violent shudders, but eventually he managed to mumble, 'I'm sorry. This was dumb. You went out and...'

'I didn't get anything,' Derek interrupted softly. 'I only left to give you time to think this over. To realize you didn't want it this way. I didn't think that you'd take it this hard.' Derek's voice trailed off and to Stiles' confusion he realized that Derek was ashamed.

'It was the wrong thing to do,' Derek continued quietly. 'I should have stayed. Should have talked it over with you. But I'm not... good at that.'

Summoning up his courage, Stiles looked up at Derek, whose eyes were wide and soft and guilty. He didn't seem scary any more. It helped that he was kneeling down, his head a little lower than Stiles' and his shoulders hunched.

When he was sure that he could trust his voice again Stiles said, 'Thanks. For being smarter than me.'

Derek's lips quirked sadly. 'You can stay here, if you want. I'd like you to stay. I would...' He paused for half a breath. 'I would worry about you, if you left now.'

Stiles stayed.

He put his jeans back on, and his socks, and pulled on his T-shirt with his back to Derek, wearing his flannel shirt over his shoulders like a cape. It was absurd, when Derek had already seen him stripped bare, but the privacy felt nice.

Derek brought him water in a plastic cup and watched him drink until he was satisfied that Stiles wasn't going die of dehydration. Still sitting on the end of the bed, Stiles curled his toes awkwardly, avoiding Derek's gaze.

'Do you want me to sleep on the couch?' he asked in a faux-casual voice.

'No,' Derek replied, and after a short silence he echoed, 'Do you want me to sleep on the couch?'

Stiles took a deep breath and fought the urge to answer right away. He looked up at Derek, who looked less like a jock right now and more like a... human being. A genetically blessed human being, for sure, but the natty old T-shirt and sweats and his slightly mussed hair made Stiles wonder how he had ever been scared of Derek, been afraid that Derek would... well.

'No,' Stiles answered.

* * *

A distant car alarm woke Stiles up a few hours later. He slept lightly when not in his own bed, easily stirred, but he couldn't feel any movement in the bed which meant that Derek was still asleep. Stiles stared up at the dimly lit ceiling for long minutes, listening to the long, deep pulls of Derek's breath somewhere to his right. Finally he rolled his head over to look at his very strange bedfellow.

Derek's face was half-buried in his pillow, a damp patch underneath his slightly open mouth and his expression more relaxed than Stiles had ever seen it. He had one hand curled up near his face and the sheets were pulled down to his waist. He was still wearing the T-shirt, but it was thin and did nothing to hide the lines of his body.

Stiles swallowed hard. He tried to summon up some of the reluctance that he had felt earlier, but Derek asleep was not a scary sight. The opposite, in fact. Stiles felt a familiar ache swelling inside his chest that was somewhere between overwhelming desire and profound sadness.

He watched as Derek stirred a little in his sleep, a small grumbling moan emerging from his throat as he rubbed his face over the pillow, his stubble scratching on it. The sheets slid a little lower and his shirt rode a little higher, exposing those two little grooves over his hips that led diagonally into his groin. They were cut off by the pyjama pants that Derek was wearing, slung low but still decent, as was the trail of hair leading down and getting wider just before it disappeared below the fabric.

Stiles swallowed hard. He tried to memorize every detail. This was probably the last chance he would get to see Derek Hale like this, especially after last night's humiliation. Stiles could actually feel himself shaking a little with confused arousal, and he slowly slid his hand off his hip, pressing it against the front of his jeans, feeling the stiffness and humidity of his erection even through two layers of fabric. He rubbed his hand over it, just a little, and felt an ooze of liquid slicking the inside of his underwear in response.

Fuck.

Derek's nostrils twitched and his brow crinkled

Oh, _fuck_.

Stiles whipped his hand away to a less compromising place and closed his eyes again, desperately trying to feign sleep despite the way his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest. He felt rather than saw Derek wake up, and there was a long, awkward silence in which no one breathed.

'Hey,' Derek said at last, softly, his voice rough with sleep.

For a fleeting moment, Stiles considered pretending to wake up, but he knew that it wouldn't fool Derek. He opened his eyes, looking down first before reluctantly lifting his eyes to Derek's face.

Thankfully, the werewolf didn't look murderous or disgusted. He lay there breathing through his nose for a few long seconds and finally said, 'This wasn't just about the virgin sacrifices, was it?'

Stiles rolled over onto his back and slung an arm over his burning face. 'Kill me now,' he mumbled.

Derek didn't reply. He was quiet for so long that Stiles started to hope that he might have fallen asleep again, but when he peeked out from the shelter of his arm he saw that Derek was lifted up on one elbow, looking up and down the length of Stiles' body and still breathing evenly through his nose.

Finally Derek dragged his gaze up to meet Stiles' again, and there was a bright, hungry alertness in them now.

'Stiles,' he said. 'I'm not going to do anything to you.'

Stiles swallowed and nodded as best he could lying down, mentally tying a tourniquet around the pain of Derek's rejection.

'But...' Derek continued heavily, licking his lips. 'If there's anything you want to do to me...'

He left the words hanging in the air between them, which suddenly seemed heated. Stiles stared at him, wondering if he had understood what had just been said, but Derek didn't seem about to take it back. He lay back, passively, flat on his back but with his head turned towards Stiles, watching him. Waiting.

This could be such a huge mistake. Derek could be playing a prank on him. Derek might laugh at him. Derek would probably kill him.

Stiles looked down, at those two grooves on Derek's lower abdomen. He swallowed, breathing quick and shallow, then reached out with trembling fingers and stuttered them over the groove that was closest to him. The muscle underneath was hard, taut, but Derek's skin trembled a little and goosebumps formed around the contact points of Stiles' fingertips.

Amazed at the reaction, Stiles looked back up at Derek's face. The werewolf's eyelids were hooded, his mouth open, breathing damply and staring. Staring at _Stiles_.

Underneath Stiles' fingers, Derek's hips twitched upwards a little off the mattress.

Not wanting to think too much about it, Stiles lifted himself up on one elbow, leaned forward and dropped a kiss onto Derek's open mouth. Before it finished he felt Derek's lips move invitingly, so he did it again, catching Derek's full bottom lip in his mouth. It was a tentative, clumsy kiss. A teenager's kiss.

Derek didn't move, but Stiles could feel the tension thrumming through the older man's body and it made him bold. He grabbed Derek's hip and tugged, encouraging Derek to roll over to face him, and then crowded close so that his stomach and chest were pressed against Derek's. He licked his lips and kissed Derek again, Derek's lips barely moving. Stiles pushed a hand through Derek's hair, tilted his head back, and kissed him once more.

He was more turned on than he had ever been in his life, but Derek's lack of response was starting to make Stiles doubtful and nervous. He tightened his grip in the thick, pillow-mussed black hair and whispered, 'C'mon, Derek, please.'

But Derek's body stayed stiff, composed with an iron self-control.

Suddenly emboldened, Stiles pushed his hips hard into Derek's. He'd only intended to let Derek feel how turned on he was, but as he did so he also felt...

'Oh Jesus,' Stiles breathed.

At that Derek groaned quietly, buried his face in Stiles throat and started suckling at his pulse point, scraping it with his teeth and stubble and pushing his tongue against it in a massage that made Stiles writhe wildly, clutching at Derek's head, pushing his hips forward and whimpering. God, he needed to take his jeans off. Fuck nerves. Fuck fear. Fuck hesitation. Stiles was ready. He was ready for this, so ready...

He dropped his hand down and brushed it over the front of Derek's pyjama pants, and for a moment he was curling his fingers around where Derek was thick and rigid and hot. Then Derek was reaching down urgently to grab Stiles' wrist and pull his hand away, lifting it over Stiles' head and pressing it against the pillow. Moaning in protest, Stiles tried to catch Derek's mouth, but Derek pulled away and shook his head.

'No,' he said. 'No. Stop.'

'I'm ready,' Stiles insisted in a rush, fighting the tight grasp that Derek had on his wrist, his eyes wide. 'I'm ready now, really, Derek, let's go, c'mon.'

'I said no,' Derek told him sharply, grabbing Stiles' other wrist and straddling him, holding Stiles down but also holding himself off, so that they were barely touching.

Stiles looked up at Derek and flicked his tongue over his lips. 'You want it like this, huh,' he goaded, letting himself go limp. 'You want to take control? You can, I'll let you do that, you can do whatever you want.'

'Stiles,' Derek said sternly. 'We've gone as far as we're going to go tonight. OK?'

Stiles looked up at him uncertainly. He couldn't tell if Derek was pissed off or not, and suddenly he was overcome by a terrible sense that he'd done something wrong. His arousal dissipated into a cloud of fear and doubt and suddenly he didn't want Derek on top of him like this, it didn't feel good, not at all, actually...

'Get off me,' he whispered hoarsely.

Derek looked at him searchingly for a moment, then obliged.

Stiles got off the bed abruptly and stalked over to where his shoes were. He sat on the edge of the bed and started pulling them on in rough, jerky motions.

'Stiles.'

Stiles ignored him, burning with humiliation.

'Where are you going? It's three in the morning.'

'I came here to ask you for one thing, Derek,' Stiles snapped in harsh tones, his voice barely shaking. 'One thing, and you couldn't even do that.'

'Stiles, would you stop?'

'Can't stop,' Stiles said briskly, tying his laces. 'Jungle will be closing soon. I'll find a guy who hasn't hooked up yet, be his last resort. I would have preferred a bed but an alleyway'll do, I guess. So long as I lose it, right?'

He stood up and looked down challengingly at Derek, who was still cross-legged on the bed, kneading the heel of his hand against his eye like a kid.

'You can't blackmail me into having sex with you, Stiles,' Derek said quietly.

'Who. _The fuck_. Said anything about blackmail?' Stiles yelled. 'I'm having sex tonight, Derek, I don't really care who it's with.' He headed for the stairs, calling over his shoulder in a sneering tone, 'Thanks for the warm-up.'

He didn't look back once as he stormed out of Derek's apartment.


End file.
